


you took me under sure

by arzoensis



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arzoensis/pseuds/arzoensis
Summary: Brian’s laughing as they drag each other up the stairs of Pat’s apartment, their hips bumping with every step.“Am I making you the worst neighbor in the world?” Brian whispers loudly, while Pat tries his best to get his key in the lock. Brian’s leaning against the wall, wiping at his eyes.“We can make it worse,” Pat says, and he can feel himself grinning. “We can make itso much worse.”





	you took me under sure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letterthing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterthing/gifts).



> Well I guess I’m here now.
> 
> Thanks to letterthing for reading this over! 
> 
> Title from FKJ’s “We Ain’t Feeling Time.”

The first sign that Pat is about to get roped into something he doesn’t want to do is when Simone stands just in his peripheral, her hands on her hips in a true Power Stance.

The second sign is that she asks, “What are you doing tonight?”

Pat clears his throat. “Depends on what you’re about to invite me to.”

She snorts. “It’s the first day of spring, and we’re throwing a party at my place. You should come.”

“I’m very busy tonight, Simone. Charlie needs his father.”

Simone crosses her arms, and that’s Power Stance Two. “You’re _attending_ , Patrick Gill,” she says. “And if you don’t, I swear I’ll bring the party to _you_.”

Pat doesn’t think Simone scares him. Not exactly. They’re very good friends and Pat would trust Simone with his soul—he let himself get trapped in a sweater with her week after week, after all. That’s how real friends work. But he also thinks that Simone could piledrive him directly into hell without hesitation. She’s just nice enough not to do that.

Which is why after Simone texts him in all caps “WEAR A NICE SHIRT,” Pat finds himself at her apartment door. Fashionably late, and carrying a six pack of his own beer (that he plans to drink all of, thank you very much) but attending nonetheless. _And_ with a nice shirt on.

The door’s unlocked, and he’s immediately confronted by the sheer amount of people milling about. Simone makes friends like its her hobby, which Pat can’t _exactly_ relate to. He just barely sees her over the ring of heads surrounding the dining table—she’s laughing, has a cocktail shaker rattling in her hands. She spots him while she’s pouring the drink, waves frantically before she races over to hug him.

“I’m glad you showed up,” she says cheerfully, the _and I didn’t even have to threaten you that much_ left tantalizingly unsaid. She’s pink enough to be a few deep. “And I’ll even give you a pass on bringing your own drinks.”

“I’ll drink your gimlets one day,” Patrick says, extricating a can from the cardboard holder.

Simone rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “You’re gonna be a gin drinker one day. Just you wait. You can leave the rest of them in the fridge. Feel free to sit on the couch and scroll through your phone, okay? I’ll send someone to be friends with you later.” She makes a shooing motion at him.

Pat grabs another beer, puts the rest in the fridge for later. The couch is surprisingly unclaimed, though the piles of jackets on it probably helps. He scoots them over, unlocks his phone, polishes off the first beer. Cracks open the second.

It’s not until the return from his second trip to the fridge that he realizes that the party’s cleared out a little. It’s not even that late, really—he’s been here about an hour and a half, and Simone has impressive party stamina.

“Everyone went bar-hopping.”

Pat nearly jumps. Brian grins at him. His glasses are a little askew, and if the redness of his face is any indication then Simone’s bartending has gotten sloppier (if it wasn’t sloppy in the first place). He’s got a bright drink in one hand, half empty and with what looks to be most of a lime bobbing in the ice.

“Where did you come from?” Pat asks. “And did you read my mind?”

“Oh, I’ve been here for like, three hours. Jenna brought Betrayal,” Brian says with a shrug. “Thought Simone might’ve told you about it? And you were looking around like you forgot where you were.”

“I had no idea you were here,” Pat says, and if he’s self-conscious about sitting on a couch alone, partially surrounded by three empty cans with another in his hand, then he’s probably a little too buzzed to recognize it.

“We’re putting on Fibbage,” Brian says. He stumbles a little as he flops onto the couch, taking a seat half on Pat’s lap before he slides onto the cushion. “Wanna play?”

“I’ll watch,” Pat says. Brian chugs the rest of his drink, puts it on the coffee table where, hopefully, no one will knock it over. He leans back against the couch with a sigh.

“I think that was mostly grenadine and vodka,” Brian says with a grimace, wiping at his mouth. If Pat’s gaze lingers a little long on his stained lips—sue him. He’s most of a six pack deep. He’s allowed to be a little shameless.

Brian wriggles against him. He’s restless enough when he’s sober, and clearly worse when he’s not. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s pressed against Pat’s side from shoulder to ankle, and—if he can be honest—Pat isn’t against the situation either.

It takes Brian two tries to unlock his phone so he can type in the code for the game room, which Pat would think is very funny if he didn’t forget what his passcode was a minute ago.

“You sure you don’t want to play?” Brian asks, while everyone gets settled around the TV. “Not too late.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” Pat says, “I’m really wondering if I know how to read right now.”

Brian laughs, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “Okay, good point.”

Pat doesn’t mean to keep stealing glances while Brian plays, the long line of his throat almost like a beacon in the dim lights of Simone’s living room. It’s just that Brian laughs at their answers and runs a hand through his too-wild hair and tilts his head every time Pat says something. And sometimes when Pat looks at Brian, he’s looking back.

He keeps looking.

 

 

Everyone’s drunk enough that piss jokes are deliciously funny—which is saying something, considering the usual piss-obsession of all Polygon employees. Simone even tolerates an entire round of Civic Doodle without calling the game a piece of shit.

Brian nudges him with an elbow. He’s put his phone down, tilts his head at Pat. “What are you drinking?”

In response, Pat tips the can toward him. Brian takes a sip. Thinks for a moment. Takes a second. "That’s… actually very good. Grapefruit?”

“Blood orange,” Pat says, and Brian’s grinning as he murmurs _it’s fucking red_ before swallowing another mouthful.

“I should’ve made you give me one earlier,” Brian says, handing the can back. “Maybe if I had something in my hand then Simone wouldn’t have forced me to drink… that. Whatever it was.”

“Absolutely not,” Pat says, grave. “Double-fisting only for non-liquor drinkers.”

“I don’t like that I’m not sure if you’re lying or not.” Brian cocks his head. “So what about you?”

“At this point, Simone knows I’ll get drunk all by my lonesome.” Pat motions to his empty cans, a grandiose and sweeping gesture at the little kingdom he’s built. “I’m sure you can tell.”

Brian hums, settles back into his seat. Pat feels brash, slings his arm around the back of the couch, touches Brian’s shoulder where his fingers brush against it. Brian leans into him a little more, then some more, until his head is pillowed against Pat’s shoulder. He’s not really playing, waving off Simone when she asks him if he wants to join the next game. Brian closes his eyes. Simone winks and motions a truly baffling and entirely sexual hand motion at Pat.

“Tired?” Pat asks, and Brian nods.

"I think– It might be–” he sighs, licks his lips. “Possibly I may have had a little too much.”

“You’re welcome to stay at my place,” Pat says, and he almost bites his fucking tongue off. Traitorous.

Brian opens his eyes. Blinks.

“You know,” Pat says, rather lamely. “I live closer than you do. And I’d rather you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

“I have housemates,” Brian says. “One of them’s my sister. I think they’d notice first.”

“…Yes,” Pat replies.

Brian laughs, scrubbing one hand through his hair. He tilts his head, and Pat is realizing with a sudden, dawning clarity that they really are very close together. He says, a playfully lilting tone in his voice, “Patrick Gill, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”

“Why, Mr. Gilbert, is it working?” Pat answers, that easy back-and-forth, the kind that Simone calls _horny on main_ when she’s absolutely destroying him over the fact that he’d like to shove his tongue into Brian’s 25 year old mouth (something he revealed in deep, drunk confidence and which Simone had laughed so hard about she lay face-down on the floor honking for five minutes straight). Brian tucks his forehead against Pat’s shoulder as he laughs.

“It’s been working for a while,” Brian says, quiet and amused, and it’s like Pat’s brain hits the brakes too hard, slamming directly into the front of his skull.

Oh.

“Oh,” he says.

Brian hums, plucking Pat’s beer out of his hand and taking another sip like he didn’t just turn his world around, like Pat isn’t currently having a major crisis while sitting on Simone’s couch, their co-workers laughing just a few feet away.

“I’d be down to go to your place,” Brian says. It’s so casual, but he’s also not looking at Pat.

“Only if you want to.”

Brian glances at him before he stands up. “I’m gonna get my stuff. Help me tell Simone we’re going home?”

Simone’s busy pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen when Pat rounds the corner. She sticks her tongue out at him in greeting.

“I’m gonna take Brian back,” Pat says, leaning in a way he hopes is casual against the wall. “He’s a little drunk.”

Simone raises her eyebrows as she takes a slow drink. “Party’s over for the boys, huh?”

“He’s tired. You don’t want him to suffer, do you?”

She sighs dramatically. “Very cruel of you, using his happiness against me. Fine. I’ll let you go.”

Brian’s standing at the door when Pat and Simone emerge from the kitchen, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. He smiles almost apologetically when Simone says his name.

“Don’t give me that look,” Simone scolds. She gives him a hug. “Get home safe. Text me when you’re there.”

It’s not too bad of a night out. Pat’s breath hangs in the air when he coughs, but his face is warm. They could probably walk to Pat’s place if he was sure they could walk in a straight line the whole way.

“What’d you tell her?” Brian asks.

Pat shrugs. “That I was taking you home. Wasn’t specific on the location.”

Brian snorts. “She definitely knows then.” His hand finds the crook of Pat’s elbow. He’s painted his nails a deep, midnight blue. It matches his jacket.

It’s always been easy, the way that Brian touches him. Probably Pat should’ve thought about it a long time ago instead of Brian’s nails.

He feels bad about dragging Brian onto the train to his apartment. Brian’s so nice and stubborn he’d probably decide halfway that he’s fine and can make it home by himself, going the exact opposite direction. So before he can start walking towards the station, Pat flags down a cab and bundles the both of them inside.

Brian sits in the middle seat, waits until the cab starts moving before he leans against Pat again. He hooks their arms together, sticks his hand into Pat’s jacket pocket. He’s humming something to himself, his free hand tapping a steady rhythm against his knee.

“If I text Simone when we get to your place, she’s _definitely_ going to know where I am,” Brian says. “And I don’t know if I can survive the emojis in my chat history.”

“I’m sure she’ll respect your bravery,” Pat tries.

“I should probably just accept that I’ll get sent four drooling emojis,” Brian says with a sigh. He leans his head against Pat’s shoulder, hair brushing against his cheek.

“I can text her if you want,” Pat says, despite the fact that he doesn’t want another chain of eggplants in his history, either.

“I’ll think about it,” Brian murmurs. He starts humming again, and Pat watches the streetlights blur past out the window.

 

 

Pat flicks on the light, winces at the crumpled pillows on his couch and the empty take-out container still on the coffee table.

“Sorry about the mess. If you, uh, wanna go to sleep—” Pat is starting to say, and then he turns around from the hallway table and Brian is standing right in front of him, reaching for the front of his shirt.

It’s a clunky and messy kiss, with their glasses bumping against each other and Brian stepping on Pat’s foot and Pat pulling on Brian’s hair hard enough to make him squeak. Pat tries to say _sorry_ but it’s a little muffled considering he’s saying it directly into Brian’s mouth, one that tastes like grenadine and Sprite and, weirdly enough, Twizzlers.

When Brian finally pulls away, his hair is even more of a mess than it usually is and he’s almost panting. Pat swipes his thumb across Brian’s bottom lip, because he can, and because he’s a little distracted by how red Brian’s mouth is.

“I am drunk,” he says, looking Pat in the eyes. “And also, I wanna see your dick.”

Pat swallows while Brian stares at him. “Agreeing with the first, declining the second.” He continues, before Brian can open his mouth, “Probably not the best idea to, uh, do this while we’re both drunk.”

“Liquid courage,” Brian deadpans, but he’s also sagging against the wall. The wall that Pat may or may not have pushed him against. He can’t quite remember that part.

“I don’t think I’ll stop wanting to show you my dick in the morning,” Pat says, and Brian laughs, bright and helpless, and Pat can’t stop fucking _looking_ at him.

“That’s not fair,” Brian says, hiccuping. “You can’t be funny right now.”

“Too late. I’m a real comedian,” Pat says, pulling Brian away from the wall and walking him over to his room. “I’m working on my stand-up right now.”

“Don’t play those games with me, Pat Gill,” Brian replies. “I know about your short-lived stand-up career.”

“You got me. If you wait here I might even tell you more about it.” Pat gently deposits Brian on the bed. “Try and get your shirt off, okay? I’ll get you some water.”

He chugs two glasses of water in the kitchen. Stares at the sink for a solid minute. Just—thinks. About this whole night, about Brian fumbling with the buttons of his button-up while sitting on Pat’s rumpled bed, about waking up tomorrow with Brian next to him.

He swallows and fills another glass before heading into his room.

Brian’s got most of his shirt off, is looking forlornly at his shoes while he tries to toe them off. He’s—quite the picture, with his hair hanging his face and one arm still up to the sleeve in his dress shirt.

“You okay, boy wonder?” Pat asks, pushing the glass into his hand.

“I think if I lean over to take my shoes off, I’d just hit the ground,” Brian says, and he sounds so dramatic and miserable that Pat snorts.

“Drink your water.” Pat tugs Brian’s arm out of the shirt, raises his eyebrows at Brian until he manages a couple of gulps. He gets down on one knee, pulls at his shoelaces. “I can help you out here.”

“You look nice,” Brian murmurs. He reaches out to touch Pat’s collar. “Your shirt. I haven’t seen you wear it before. Looks good on you.”

“Thanks. Simone told me to dress up a little,” Pat says, and the shoes drop on the floor. He reaches for Brian’s belt, considers it for a moment before his brain yells _fuck it_ and he undoes the buckle.

“Woah there, cowboy,” Brian says, but it doesn’t sound—bad, and when Pat looks up at him Brian tips his imaginary hat. “When you said you didn’t want to show me your dick, did you mean the other way around?”

“I’m not sleeping next to you while you’re wearing these,” Pat replies, and he’s very proud of the way that his voice stays clinical while he pulls down the zipper.

Brian wrinkles his nose. “Fair.”

Pat helps get the pants off the rest of the way, with Brian kicking ineffectually but with a lot of gusto. Brian’s glass is empty so he plucks it out of his hand before he can drop it, sets it down on the nightstand.

“Up you go,” Pat murmurs, lifting Brian’s legs until he can lie down on the bed properly.

“I have no idea how you’re still taking care of me right now,” Brian says, while Pat tucks the blanket around him. “You probably drank more than me.”

“Probably did, but someone has to,” Pat replies with a shrug. “Might as well be me.”

“Pat likes taking care of me,” Brian singsongs, snuggling down into the blanket.

“Not news,” Pat says, and Brian makes a very pleased sound.

Pat strips out of his shirt and pants, brushes his teeth vaguely. He makes a stop in the living room, texts Simone that they’ve made it home safely. Simone sends him that winking emoji with the tongue sticking out, and Pat snorts.

Charles is stretching on the back of the couch when he walks through the living room, yawns and hops down from his perch before following Pat into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by Brian’s presence, just curls up happily at the foot of the bed.

Pat gets under the covers, a respectable distance away from Brian, just in case, but of course he throws his arms over Pat’s body like an octopus. Well, it is a little cold in the apartment.

Brian kisses his chin. He sounds so smug when he says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Congratulations,” Pat says, and tries not to sound _too_ fond.

Brian hums, presses his thumb where he’d kissed. “You’re gonna look so good when you’re salt and peppery,” he says, dreamily. Pat snorts.

“Yeah? You ready to watch me wither away into an old man?” Pat teases.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Brian is beaming at him, even with his eyes closed. “I plan to be around when you get your dentures.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided all my teeth are gonna fall out, Brian,” Pat says. “Now please go to sleep.”

“You got it, Pat Gill,” Brian murmurs. He’s still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m over on [Tumblr](http://arzoensis.tumblr.com) if you ever wanna send a message!


End file.
